


Use Your Illusion

by London9Calling



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: 1920s Magicians having fun on stage cough, Blow Jobs, Come Sharing, Hand Jobs, Light Bondage, M/M, Magic, Praise Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-21
Updated: 2018-03-21
Packaged: 2019-04-05 09:47:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14041557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/London9Calling/pseuds/London9Calling
Summary: The Great Chanyeol. That is what it reads on the playbills and the colorful programs they hand out at each show. He is a master illusionist, but he could never do it without his assistant, Jongin. In fact, there are a lot of things he couldn’t do without Jongin.





	Use Your Illusion

**Author's Note:**

  * For [caterplina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/caterplina/gifts).



> For Cata, who has been an amazing friend through thick and thin. I love you, dear. Please always be you because you are amazing. Now enjoy some Chankai bondage /runs.

Chanyeol tugged his suit jacket tightly around him, eyes trained on the backside of the red stage curtain. He could hear the orchestra setting up in the pit, the shuffle of feet joining the din of the audience. The men, women, and children who had shelled out the twenty cents to see him were growing restless for the show to begin. 

He felt his heart rate increase. These seconds before the show began was the only time he allowed himself to feel anxious. If he did so onstage, it would be instantly obvious to the audience, and he couldn't have that. A magician,  _ an illusionist _ , was not supposed to look uncertain. 

He heard footsteps to his left, he glanced to his side and saw Jongin approaching, his trademark lazy smile playing on his lips. His black hair was slicked back, off his face. The red sequined vest he was wearing hugged his middle, tight enough for Chanyeol’s eyes to wander downward for a moment. 

“It’s a full house,” Jongin said, nodding towards the closed curtain. “Completely sold out.”

Chanyeol felt his heart leap once, twice, as he considered the packed theater. “Good,” he kept his words short.

“Makes up for what happened in Omaha.” Jongin’s hand went to his cufflinks. He adjusted them carefully. They were gold, a present from Chanyeol when they last passed through New York City. 

“You mean we can pay the bills?” Chanyeol joked. 

“Yeah. And maybe even have some money to eat,” Jongin deadpanned, nudging Chanyeol’s shoulder affectionately. 

He earned a smile from Chanyeol, the illusionist feeling a few seconds of ease at the banter. The notes of a ragtime overture started playing, signaling that the show was about to begin. 

“Ready?” Jongin asked. 

“Ready,” Chanyeol confirmed, standing tall and confident as the curtain began to slide back across the stage. 

  
  
  


The show was a resounding success. Chanyeol excelled at it, voice commanding attention, each movement careful and calculating as he directed the audience's attention to where he wanted them to look. Basking in the halo of the stage lighting, Chanyeol let them see the things that would amaze them, that would have them whispering and chattering as they filed out of the theater, amazed at the magic displayed on stage, never quite sure what forces were behind the tricks that had awed them over the last hour. 

And Jongin, his faithful assistant, helped him deliver. He worked alongside him like it was the most natural thing in the world, their movements flowing together seamlessly as they made use of the stage, wowing the audience with their complicated illusions. Jongin sawed in half, Chanyeol disappearing from the stage altogether. Disappearing objects, a card tricks portion. He delighted in the mesmerized looks on the audience’s faces as they tried to understand, to comprehend, what they had just witnessed. 

Once the theater was empty, the last patrons long gone, crumpled programs in hand, Chanyeol returned to the stage, to the setup. He ambled among the apparatus that hadn’t been wheeled backstage, the side sawing box, and the table that they used for some of the prompts. He ran his hand over the crimson velvet tablecloth, sucking in a deep breath of relief that all had gone as planned. 

They had accidents before, tricks that didn’t go right. Sometimes they had theaters that barely sold a dozen tickets. It wasn’t all easy; it wasn't all guaranteed. That made each success that much more important, that much more deserving of gratitude and a show of pride. 

“You want to practice the new acts?”

Chanyeol looked over his shoulder to see Jongin standing by the footlights. He had removed his vest; his white dress shirt unbuttoned, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, hands clasped behind his back. He had dragged his hand through his black hair a few times, Chanyeol could tell by the way it was sticking up. He looked gorgeous, sexy, and Chanyeol had to fight hard from saying it out loud. 

“Ahh.” Chanyeol had nearly forgotten. He had promised. “Yeah, we can.”

Jongin’s enthusiasm for adding new material to their routine was endless. He was always studying up on the latest tricks, on what their competition was doing. He was ambitious, energetic, and confident. And Chanyeol loved that about him. Loved how much he pushed for change when Chanyeol started to get too comfortable, too used to the illusions they were performing. 

It was only one of the things he loved about the man he had chosen to make his life with. He had never listed them out, but he was certain if he ever sat down and tried he could fill a book with the reasons he loved Kim Jongin. 

They had been together for five years, ever since Chanyeol took out an advertisement in the newspaper after his last assistant had quit. Jongin answered it on the second day, a letter scrawled in messy handwriting, describing his qualifications and enthusiasm in rambling, lead on sentences. Chanyeol set up an appointment with him not expecting much but wanting to meet the kid who showed so much enthusiasm for illusion. 

The moment he laid eyes on eighteen-year-old Jongin, he knew he was doomed. He found himself besotted, heart jumping in his chest, face heating up. He blushed a few times during their first meeting, and Jongin did too. A few days later Jongin’s hired, the pair setting out for the Midwest on a train. It took a week for the two to kiss, and a few months for them to sleep together. Chanyeol regretted nothing. 

“What do you have in mind,” the magician asked, trying to recall if Jongin had named a particular trick when he was going on about the latest illusions he had read up-on. 

Jongin smiled, pulling a length of rope from behind his back. “Rope Trick.”

Chanyeol swallowed a groan. He wasn’t the best at rope tricks; he had never been. He wasn’t nearly as flexible as Jongin, his limbs habitually stiff and unwieldy. Jongin used to tease him that it was his height that made him so damn unmovable. 

“Which one?”

“There’s a man in Milwaukee who makes a full escape from inside a crate,” Jongin informed him, voice dripping with excitement. “It is fairly simple how he does it.”

“Is that so?” Chanyeol raised one of his eyebrows, unable to hide his skepticism.

“It will be simple.  _ Trust me _ .” Jongin was already walking across the stage, rope in hand. “We need to practice the knots first, of course.”

Chanyeol shrugged his jacket off, folding it and tossing it on the edge of the stage. Next, he went to work unbuttoning his sleeves, rolling them up like Jongin. He glanced down at his shoes, Jongin nodded at him to remove them. 

“It is a Davenport knot, two lengths of rope,” Jongin explained, separating the cotton ropes so Chanyeol could see. A Davenport knot was something Chanyeol understood, albeit wasn’t the best at tying himself. It was a trick of overhand knots, then running knots that would disguise slack in the rope, making it easy to escape. 

“Hands in front or behind?” Chanyeol asked, dreading the rope burn that would no doubt mark his wrists after practicing the illusion. 

“Behind.” Jongin clucked his tongue. “The  _ Great Chanyeol _ would never embarrass himself by having his hands tied in front.”

Chanyeol narrowed his eyes at his lover. “What do I get if I escape on my first attempt?”

“What do you want?” Jongin’s eyebrow raised. He flashed a flirtatious smile, hand going out to run along Chanyeol’s forearm, fingertips teasing the skin. 

“You,” Chanyeol answered, voice lowering. 

“Well then you better hope you can escape on your first attempt,” Jongin said, pushing Chanyeol to turn around. Chanyeol grumbled but complied, placing his wrists together. 

He waited, Jongin grabbing his wrists, tying the rope around them as gently as possible. “Now tug,” Jongin instructed. 

Chanyeol tried to separate his wrists, but the rope held tight. He could feel the knot digging into his wrist, the bulge of the rope sliding against his skin. “Now what?”

“Can you feel the pull?” Jongin asked, leaning in, voice tickling Chanyeol’s ear. 

Chanyeol swallowed, tensing. “You’re evil; you know that?”

Jongin laughed, a lilting sound as he put his hands on Chanyeol’s wrists. “Next is your feet, but I need you to sit for that one.”

“Where?” Chanyeol glanced around the stage. The chair they used for some of their tricks was already backstage, Jongin having carried it off when it was no longer needed. 

“The table,” Jongin answered, pushing Chanyeol’s wrists, urging him to walk towards the prop table. 

He shuffled his bare feet along the stage, the floorboards creaking as they went. The stage was almost dark, only dimly lit now the theater was empty. They had the place for two days, one of the rare times they didn’t have to pack up right after a show and head out to the next city. 

It was awkward, shuffling along without shoes on, hands tied behind his back. Chanyeol, unusually clumsy for a man who made his living selling illusions, made a misstep and tripped over his own feet. His thighs collided with the table. He let out a yelp and fell forward slightly, the sudden action having an unintended effect. 

Jongin lurched forward to catch him. 

His ass was pressed against Jongin’s middle, the assistant seizing the moment-at-hand, moving his hands to Chanyeol’s hips. Bent over on stage, ass pressed against his lover, hands tied behind his back, was a daunting reality to Chanyeol and his libido. His mind instantly went to the gutter, to the feeling of Jongin’s hands on his sides, at how awfully vulnerable he was at the moment. His face heated up as he stared down at the velvet tablecloth, vindicated when Jongin didn’t remove his hands from his hips. 

Chanyeol cleared his throat. “We um…”

“You haven’t escaped,” Jongin interrupted, moving away. 

Chanyeol gritted his teeth. He managed to right himself and turn around. “This isn’t fair,” he mumbled, noting the pink dusting on Jongin’s cheeks. So he wasn’t the only one affected by their situation. 

“Up,” Jongin directed, nodding at the table. 

“Help me,” Chanyeol replied, not sure how he could angle himself on the table without falling on his ass. 

Jongin moved forward, hands going to Chanyeol’s waist. The move brought him very close, Chanyeol’s eyes darting to Jongin’s plump lips. He was of a mind to lean forward and kiss him, but his desire is cut short when the assistant lifted him onto the table with one swift action. It was one of the rare times Chanyeol cursed how strong Jongin was. He settled for sucking in a breath, watching as Jongin walked a few feet across the stage to fetch the rest of the rope. 

Chanyeol’s long legs has his feet almost touching the floor, toes meeting the stage. Jongin was there in a second, crouching down, rope in hand. The sight of Jongin between his legs didn’t help matters, Chanyeol’s dick twitching as his mind went anywhere but the illusion. 

Jongin was quick, tying the knots and stepping back with a satisfied look on his face. 

“Now escape,” he said, as though it was the easiest thing in the world. 

Chanyeol shimmied his shoulders, trying to find the right position to loosen the knot. He had done it before, albeit a simpler knot and not while sitting down. He contorted his arms and leaned forward, struggling to find an entry, anything that would let him loosen the rope. 

Jongin watched him as he grunted in frustration, working against the rope for a couple of minutes, not finding a release. 

“Easy, huh?” Chanyeol challenged, breathless as he struggled. If he could loosen one knot, then the rest would be simple, but the rope wouldn’t give. 

“Fairly easy, yes,” Jongin countered. He walked around the table, Chanyeol stopping his epic fight with the cotton binds. 

He tensed when he felt Jongin’s fingers play along his wrists, softly tracing where the rope pressed into his flesh. “There is only one way to get out of this,” Jongin said quietly. “And it is so mind-blowingly simple you will hate yourself for not thinking of it.”

Chanyeol waited for Jongin to tell him, but all he was met with was silence. “Well, what is it?!” he demanded, impatient and starting to get annoyed. 

Jongin’s fingers were still tracing along his skin. “What would be the fun if I told you?” Jongin said.

Chanyeol huffed in annoyance, ready to turn around and curse out his assistant when Jongin tugged on the ropes, pulling Chanyeol back. The effect was a gasp leaving Chanyeol’s lips as he was tugged backward onto the table. 

His entire perception changed, his back hitting the tablecloth, eyes now staring up at Jongin. 

“You promised me something after Omaha,” Jongin said. He looked down at his boss, his lover, eyes dark, expression unreadable. 

“I…I did?” Chanyeol racked his brain for what he could have promised. Omaha was a terrible time, they had barely sold any tickets, and two of their illusions had been disastrous. Chanyeol just wanted to block the entire show from his head. 

“You did,” Jongin confirmed. 

For the life of him, he couldn’t remember making a promise. He couldn’t remember…

“You’ve been so good, Chanyeol,” Jongin said, voice dropping lower. He reached forward, hand going to Chanyeol’s forehead, smoothing his hair away. “So good.”

Chanyeol’s eyes lit up in realization. At the memory.  _ Let me tell you how well you’ve done, let me show you that one night, one theater isn’t the end of it all. _ Jongin had begged him, and he had dismissed it in his depression, had not completely understood. Had muttered that Jongin could show him once he had done a good job, had sold out a theater, which they had done that night.

Jongin smoothed his hand over Chanyeol’s hair, gentle, loving. “You’ve always done well, Chanyeol.”

Chanyeol swallowed, tears pricking his eyes. 

“Don’t get too emotional on me,” Jongin’s voice changed, more authoritative. “You’re still tied up.”

Chanyeol nodded, fighting back the tears, not wanting to turn the entire moment into him sobbing over some kind words. 

Yes, he worked himself hard. He put a lot into his illusions, into his show. He took it personally when things didn’t go as plan; he mentally berated himself. No matter how many times Jongin told him he was worth it, that he shouldn’t get so down on himself, it happened. His confidence crumbled when a show went to hell, when the audience didn’t show. 

Jongin removed his hand and walked out of Chanyeol’s line of sight, around the table. Chanyeol felt him begin to fiddle with the ropes binding his legs, he tilted his head back, sucking on his bottom lip. What had he ever done to deserve this much love? This wonderful man?

He felt the ropes slip off, Jongin’s hand tracing his ankle lovingly for a moment. 

“You were amazing today. You’re always amazing,” Jongin whispered, hand trailing up Chanyeol’s leg, smoothing over the kneecap as he stood. 

Chanyeol angled his head to see Jongin standing before him, hand resting on his thigh. There was so much damn affection, so much love in his eyes that Chanyeol had to look away lest he tear up again. 

Jongin caressed his hands up Chanyeol’s thighs, the magician’s legs spreading easily. Soft touches, the slide of his palm on Chanyeol’s tweed trousers. “So good, always so good.”

He was emotional but damn if his arousal was dismissed. Each word of praise went straight to his dick, his cock twitching into hardness as Jongin continued to caress his thighs. Jongin moved his hands slowly; palms splayed, upwards to the waist of Chanyeol’s trousers. The fabric brushed against his skin, sliding and bunching with Jongin’s touch. 

He teased along the edge, fingers tracing the waistline, short nails grazing the skin.

Chanyeol’s breath hitched. He could feel the warmth creep up his neck, to his cheeks. 

“So good.  _ Always so good _ ,” Jongin husked, fingers tracing a line to the button of Chanyeol’s pants. 

Chanyeol wanted to kiss Jongin, to kiss him senseless, to whine and beg and control, but he couldn’t, so he let himself go lax, let Jongin’s hands, his words, take control. He sucked on his bottom lip when Jongin unbuttoned his trousers and began to trace his fingers up Chanyeol’s length, slow and purposeful movements.

“I wish you’d always know how wonderful you are. How good you are.”

Chanyeol swallowed, eyes closing as he focused on the sensation of Jongin’s teasing fingers. 

When Jongin’s hands went to push the fabric of his underwear and trousers down, off his hips, he complied, lifting his lower body as best he could. The chill of the air hit him as his skin was exposed, Jongin dragging the fabric over his hips, off his legs, discarding it on the floor. 

With his hands tied behind his back, his position was not the most comfortable. Yet…something about this, about having Jongin undress him, touch him lovingly without the ability to reach out…was erotic. More erotic than anything they had ever done before. 

Jongin’s hand returned to his cock, testing he sheathed it, running his palm up the length slowly. He teased along the tip with his thumb, circling before moving his hand down.

Chanyeol strained to see, opening his eyes, taking in the sight of Jongin, black hair mussy, hand pumping Chanyeol’s cock. He gasped, letting his head fall back against the table with a dull thump. 

“If only you knew how good you are, how amazing you are,” Jongin whispered, fisting along Chanyeol’s length once, twice, before slowing. “If only you knew how loved you are.”

Jongin went back to teasing with his fingers, the callused digits brushing against the veins of Chanyeol’s cock. He bucked his hips slowly, body wanting more no matter how much he was enjoying the slow and sensuous pace. 

Jongin ignored him, hand going to Chanyeol’s hip and holding him down, the other still teasing his dick. Without warning his tongue replaced his fingers, licking the underside, earning a low moan from the bound illusionist. 

“You always taste so good,” Jongin keened, lips pressing against Chanyeol’s cock, feather-light kisses from the base to the head. 

When he circled his tongue around the head, Chanyeol tensed, toes curling. 

When he swallowed Chanyeol down, the illusionist choked back a cry, entire body on fire as Jongin took him inside his mouth. 

Jongin had a skilled tongue, the way he licked and swirled, teasing as his hand sheathed the base before moving lower to Chanyeol’s balls. He worked Chanyeol slowly, one hand pressing into Chanyeol’s hip while he bobbed down on his cock. It was a torturous pace, dragging low noises of appreciation out of the illusionist. 

Jongin dragged his teeth lightly along the length, not enough to hurt but enough to stimulate. Chanyeol arched his back, bound hands digging into his lower back, ropes rubbing against his wrists as he was overwhelmed, nerve endings firing at the stimulation. When Jongin’s fingers went to tease his perineum, Chanyeol let out a shaky breath, a wave of pleasure wracking his body. He felt sweat begin to build on his brow, everything heating up. 

He struggled to look, to see Jongin’s head bobbing along his cock, swallowing him in, pre-cum mixing with saliva as he pushed Chanyeol towards his release. 

It was erotic, the feeling of being engulfed in wet heat, the slide of Jongin’s tongue coupled with the visual. Chanyeol’s wrists moved against the ropes, pulling tightly, wanting to touch, yet knowing it was better if he didn’t. 

Jongin’s cheeks hollowed out, the outline of Chanyeol’s cock sliding and pressing against the inside of Jongin’s mouth, his fingers continuing to massage Chanyeol’s perineum – Chanyeol moaned wantonly. 

He worked him, slowing then quickening his pace, fingers massaging, tongue and lips worshipping. Chanyeol keened, knowing he was getting close, the fire in his belly spreading outwards. 

Jongin moved away suddenly, tongue licking up Chanyeol’s cock as he let the hard member fall from his swollen lips. 

“I want you to come on me,” Jongin said, “Be good, come on my face.”

Chanyeol swallowed, breath hitching as Jongin began pumping his erection quickly, pressing the head of Chanyeol’s cock to his lips, smoothing it along his cheek. “Come on, Chanyeol, please.” It was whiney; he was begging for it, to be coated in his cum. 

Chanyeol gasped, brow scrunching as his hands pulled against his restraints. He felt the surge, the white-hot sensation burst from his stomach outward, and then he was coming, seed landing on Jongin’s cheek, his lips, painting him white. 

He cried out, a strangled noise, as he came, back arching, toes curling. Jongin pumped him through his release, mouth returning to suck the last drops from him. 

Chanyeol’s muscles spasmed as he worked through his orgasm. When Jongin removed his hand with a slow drag, Chanyeol gasped, overstimulated.

“Thank you,” he rasped, feeling boneless. The fact he was lying on stage, hands still tied behind his back, was almost forgotten. Except…

“I want to kiss you,” Chanyeol said, struggling to sit up. He faltered, shoulders awkwardly angled up as he tried to sit. And then he caught sight of Jongin, hands pressed onto Chanyeol’s tights, cum on his face, tongue darting to lick up the dribbles. 

Jongin smiled sweetly, far too sweetly to be exact, before moving forward, not satisfied until he had practically climbed on top of Chanyeol. He stopped, face hovering a few inches away. “I love you,” he whispered. 

Chanyeol whined, not satisfied until Jongin had leaned in, not happy until he could kiss, lick his cum from the younger man’s face. Taste his salty release, worship the sweat soaked skin, kiss the red and swollen lips.

Jongin eventually pushed off him. “That’s disgusting.”

Chanyeol laughed, feeling unbearably carefree, like the burdens he had been carrying for the last four months of their tour were gone in minutes. 

“Untie me,” he chuckled, the ropes hurting his wrists. 

“Why? Aren’t you the  _ Great Chanyeol _ ?” Jongin responded, stepping a few feet away. 

“Hey! I want to return the favor!” Chanyeol knew that Jongin had to be hard, wanting, and he was not going to let his lover down. 

“I have a hand,” Jongin said, smirking devilishly at Chanyeol before he padded away from the table. 

“Hey! Jongin!” Chanyeol screamed. 

“Learn to get out of those ropes, dear,” Jongin called over his shoulders. “And then I will tell you that you are good again.”

Chanyeol let his head fall back on the table, swallowing the lump in his throat. “Really?” he yelled weakly. 

“Really,” Jongin responded, voice growing distant. 

The stage door shut with a thud. Chanyeol, pantsless, alone, staring up at the ceiling. Shit, he needed to figure out this illusion, and fast. He had an entirely new motivation to do well, after all.  


End file.
